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Wormwood (Xanthochroid)

All the trivial pleasures of Erthe Are but bile and bitter venom When all has darkened Hatred's light shall guide me The torrid winds of my home No longer warm my flesh I turn my gaze to the sea To my forgotten enemy The weight of prophecy No longer burdens me I save my strength To be reborn Behind me is that world of Ash The cold air shortens my breath Winters Spirits grow stronger As I draw near I hope my death Absolves me of my wrongs I hope, I hope it is cold I hope, I hope it hurts And as my life is ripped away I hope I try to hold on I go alone Into Erthe's frozen womb The weight, the weight of the cold Is too much, Too much to bear I hope it's cold I hope it hurts As Wormwood fell Into the sea I became Nobody Though tales are told Of the cold No one knows How it feels